


Heart in a Blender Song

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 500 follower fics, Domestic Fluff, Facial Hair, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Future Fic, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: A warm, domestic post-canon Otayuri morning with Yuri being absolutely infatuated by the smallest things.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	Heart in a Blender Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phichithamsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phichithamsters/gifts).



> the Eve 6 twitter situation is giving me the most joy today, and you know what? that song suits these guys anyway so I'm sticking with this title
> 
> This is for Han, who wanted Yuri being Very In Love and it made me double my target wordcount

Greyish morning light spills in slats through the vertical blinds on their bedroom window as Yuri stares across the hills and valleys of his pillow. He has his eyes slitted, a hint of green behind a golden veil, and from hiding he traces the angled line of dark hair on Otabek’s cheek.

He’s awake, playing on his phone, and he hasn’t looked over since Yuri stirred, hasn’t noticed yet that Yuri is up now too, and Yuri pursues that advantage like he’s chasing extra points in a free program. 

Otabek Altin grows perfect facial hair. It’s one of those things Yuri’s only realized this recently, in the months since they’ve moved in together. It takes a few days, and it doesn’t happen often, but Yuri’s fascinated by the slow, steady process of growth in those shadowed lines on Otabek’s jaw and upper lip. There’s no awkward, wispy and uneven stage to mar Otabek’s features. (Not at all like Yuri’s one, brief, disastrous attempt at growing a beard when he turned eighteen.) A single day without a shave produces a charming scruffy shadow. A few more, like now, and there’s a noticeable texture to the dark hair, bristling like a coarse brush. Yuri stares at it, itching to scratch his fingers along Otabek’s cheek and feel how rough and soft it is at once.

His eyes must have grown loud in their wants, because Otabek’s face rolls toward him, thick brows arching. “Good morning,” he murmurs. “How long have you been up?”

In lieu of answering, Yuri squirms closer and indulges himself. He leans in for a quick, dry kiss, and his fingers come along for the ride, both hands combing upward from the point of Beka’s chin to the fluffy sideburns just below his ears. Otabek shivers and tilts his head back, a quiet chuckle bobbing through his exposed throat.

“Point taken,” Beka says. He licks his lips before he kisses Yuri again. (Slower this time, tender, calm until Yuri dares to touch his cheek one more time.) It’s almost enough to soothe the mournful noise Yuri makes when Otabek throws back the covers and rolls out of bed. His point is very much _not_ taken, but this is why Yuri knows to pounce when he has the chance with Otabek -- the other man always takes Yuri’s interest as a reminder to shave, no matter how his boyfriend pouts and protests.

Yuri lets him go, flops back into the sunlight and finds Potya sleeping against the curve of his back. He scoops her up into a cuddle, ignoring her _mrrp_ of protest, as the hot water sputters to life in the bathroom. Yuri scratches beneath her chin, and Potya promptly forgives his transgressions, beginning to purr. A delicate sound drifts from the next room over the sound of running water -- Otabek, humming as he brushes his teeth and prepares to shave. Yuri doesn’t recognize the tune, but it’s nice, Otabek’s voice a deep counterpoint to the white noise of the sink, the vibrating cat in Yuri’s arms, and the sunlight warming their leopard print sheets. Surrounded, Yuri lets his eyes fall closed and drifts back to sleep.

His eyes open again, what feels like a heartbeat later, to the smell of coffee. Potya is gone, and Otabek is hovering at the side of the bed. His cheeks are pale and smooth, and Yuri still wants to touch them, even without the hair. Better yet, he’s got his hands cupped around Yuri’s favorite mug (a chipped, pastel kitten monstrosity that Yuri liberated from Lilia’s cabinet when he moved out) which is emitting the most glorious smell. Yuri raises his hands, wriggling his fingers, and Otabek passes the cup over with a slight smile.

The liquid inside is barely darker than sand, half milk and plenty of sugar, and it’s a small thing that makes Yuri’s heart swell every time. Long ago, he’d gotten in the habit of lying in interviews, proclaiming that he drank several cups of coffee each morning, strong and _black_. The number of people who know his true preference can be counted on one hand, and Otabek would be the index finger.

Yuri takes a few gulps of the sweet, thick liquid before looking up at Otabek again from beneath thick blonde lashes. While he’d napped, Beka had gotten dressed already. His black jeans look soft, well-worn and drooping slightly without a belt, and the white undershirt clings to the flat of his stomach and makes the tanned muscles on his biceps pop. Yuri abandons the coffee on the bedside table and pounces, hooking his fingers in Otabek’s belt loops, dragging him in.

Beka stumbles into the side of the mattress, then stops himself from falling with a hand on the headboard. “Yura,” he says, a playful warning tone. “I can’t.”

“Day off,” Yuri reminds him, tugging on the jeans again, watching avidly as the waistband dips to flash skin. “You can.”

Otabek’s hips sway forward, but his grip on the headboard tightens. “Can’t. Sausages will burn.”

Now that he mentions it, Yuri can smell the spicy, warm scent on the air, wafting in from the kitchen. Hm. He lets go. The only thing that can outweigh the temptation of Otabek back in bed is Otabek back in bed with _food_.

He gets a kiss out of it, at least. (Third kiss of the morning, and technically Yuri’s only been awake a few minutes so that might be a record.) And he gets to watch Otabek leave to check on the sausages, which is a bonus. He keeps his eyes fixated on the centimeter of skin peeking out above Beka’s waistline until he can’t anymore, then flops back to stare at the ceiling, smiling at the speckled white paint.


End file.
